


Disaster Husbands

by Etaleah



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Avalanches, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bad Weather, Belly Rubs, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Don’t copy to another site, Emotional, Fire, Hiding, Hospitalization, Humor, Hurricanes & Typhoons, Hurt Crowley, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Natural Disasters, Near Death Experiences, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Rescue, Sharing a Bed, Tickling, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Trapped In A Closet, Volcanoes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-10 00:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etaleah/pseuds/Etaleah
Summary: You don't go 6,000 years on Earth without seeing Mother Nature at her worst. Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves supporting each other through every catastrophe there is.





	1. Hurricane

Of all the disasters Aziraphale had weathered with Crowley, the catastrophic, first-of-its-kind, life-threatening Category Five hurricane was by far the most boring.

For one thing, it was far too long. Every other destructive force of nature was sensibly short and only lasted for a few minutes, an hour at most. Hurricanes went on for days. Even before it had arrived, the humans were stripping store shelves and filling the streets with enough traffic to put Crowley in a very sour mood indeed. He, like Aziraphale, had been practically under house arrest since Thursday.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, glaring at the swirling winds and rain that were busy toppling trees, drowning roads, and lifting cars. “Why can’t we just miracle ourselves somewhere else?”

Aziraphale sighed. “You want them to find us? Besides, I doubt we’d have the energy to perform a miracle that big with the ones we’re already doing.” He just hoped the humans wouldn’t ask too many questions about why, in a neighborhood where almost every house and car had been obliterated, their rental was still perfectly intact. Keeping them that way drained their powers considerably. Even replenishing a battery had proven too much effort.

“At this point I’m not sure them finding us would be that much worse,” Crowley complained. “The AC is out, we’re down to candy bars and canned peas, and every battery I have has died.” He gestured to a pile of devices stacked in the corner. In the past day and a half, Crowley had gone through his phone, his tablet, his e-reader, his laptop, and several video game consoles. Now he was pacing the house, anxious and desperate for something to do. With the power out and leaving impossible, there wasn’t much.

“It’s only temporary, love,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Just until Heaven and Hell finish having their little spat.”

“Why did they have to do it during a damn hurricane anyway?” Crowley flopped onto the couch and buried his face in the angel’s lap, groaning. Aziraphale patted his back.

“I think the real question is ‘Why Florida?’” he said with some amusement. Florida was the one place on Earth known as godless and godforsaken, in that God did not go there and neither did any of Her celestial beings. The consensus in both Heaven and Hell was that Florida had been a mistake, one that everybody tried their hardest to forget was there.* It had seemed an ideal hiding place from the forces of good and evil until now.

Crowley shrugged. “Hurricanes, humidity, heat, alligators, meth heads, an infuriatingly indecisive voting populace with disenfranchisement restrictions reminiscent of the Jim Crow era, take your pick.”

Aziraphale nodded, petting Crowley’s hair. He looked at his overstuffed bookshelf, yearning for a good story to escape this grey, dismal place. If only the storm clouds didn’t make it so dark inside.

“I miss reading terribly,” he said. “I hate to use up our flashlight for a book, but I may have to. I’m as bored as you are.”

“Hmm? Oh right, you can’t see in the dark.” Crowley rolled over and looked up at him. “I can read to you, if you like.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, then brightened into a beautiful smile. “Really? You would do that?”

“Course. Would give us both something to do.”

“Thank you.” He pulled Crowley up and kissed him. Hearing the winds pick up, he added, “Let’s move to the living room.”

* * *

When Aziraphale had selected a book, he and Crowley settled onto the mattress they’d dragged into the middle of the house, far from the windows. Crowley sat cross-legged, opened the book, and began to read. Aziraphale lay back and closed his eyes, letting the words take him off to another, much better world.

Or at least, he tried to. Only a half hour later, he opened his eyes and found he couldn’t take them off Crowley. Though he couldn’t see as much as he wanted to in the dark, he could make out the cute little curl atop the demon’s head where his red hair had the most gel, as well as the bit of pudge he’d gained around the tummy in recent months from so many meals together.

Aziraphale sat up and scooted closer to Crowley, who was still reading. Gently, he placed his hands on Crowley’s waist and lifted him onto his lap, catching him by surprise.

“Should I…?”

“Keep going, love. You’re doing a wonderful job,” Aziraphale said sweetly. He rested his chin on Crowley’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his tummy, holding him close and marveling at the softness. That seemed to relax Crowley, as he resumed reading. Aziraphale stroked it lovingly, and that relaxed him even more.

The angel could have spent forever like this, holding his love while listening to the musical sound of his voice. However, he had a better idea.

He kept one hand on Crowley’s tummy and moved the other to his hair, running his fingers through it and playing with the curl before holding his cheek to leave a tender kiss there. By this time Crowley’s reading had slowed and taken on a puzzled tone, no doubt wondering why the angel had told him to keep going when his attentions were clearly elsewhere.

_No matter, _Aziraphale thought with a sly grin. _He’ll catch on soon enough._

Aziraphale kissed his cheek again. And again. And again. Sure enough, the tips of Crowley’s mouth quirked up into a knowing smile.

They were playing _that _game.

Many a time since they’d become a couple, Aziraphale would be deeply engrossed in a book and Crowley would do absolutely anything short of snatching it out of his hands—that was cheating—to get his attention. He’d climb into his lap, kiss him all over, moan, whine, howl, shake Aziraphale by the shoulders, and on one occasion, even sang “Find Me Somebody to Love” by Queen at the top of his lungs until Aziraphale dropped the book from laughing so hard. Crowley always won, of course, though Aziraphale was very good at pretending to be immune to his affections.

Now it was payback time. Aziraphale’s kisses grew bigger and sloppier, with loud, smacking sounds that Crowley ignored as he tightened his grip on the book and read even louder in a defiant tone. He was in it to win it. _Good. _

Aziraphale tried attending to his neck, kissing and sucking and occasionally biting, but although Crowley shuddered a bit and stumbled over words, he was still reading. He tried nipple play and that didn’t work either; Crowley continued reading like nothing was happening.

Time to play dirty.

Holding his cheek again with one hand, Aziraphale blew a raspberry onto it while tickling his tummy with his other hand, and Crowley burst into giggles but still managed to hold onto the book. He tried to move his face away, but Aziraphale held it close and kept going. Crowley’s speech was barely intelligible now, each word punctuated by laughter, but he was still reading. That serpent was a stubborn one.

Time to play even dirtier.

Moving both hands down, Aziraphale caressed Crowley’s front and nibbled at his ear, earning a brief moan. He would need to time his next move just right.

“And they entered the room, and found it bare except for a desk of hand-carved mahaaaaaghany!” Crowley cried, thrusting his head back and panting. Aziraphale smirked as he squeezed Crowley’s cock even tighter, feeling it harden in his hands. He explored the area further, and found a sweet spot on his neck to suck on with the same rhythm he was using to stroke and squeeze Crowley’s cock. His hold on the book was loosening and he could barely speak.

“Give up yet?” Aziraphale asked smugly.

“Never,” Crowley growled. He read even louder, and Aziraphale promptly fell backwards, taking Crowley with him so he was lying on his back, making it more difficult for him to read. He moved out from under him and pushed his shirt up. In seconds, he had Crowley’s cock in his hand and his nipple in his mouth, and it was all Crowley could do to form actual words in between moans as he struggled to keep reading. To make sure he couldn’t get used to it, Aziraphale changed up his tactics. He planted kisses all the way down before removing Crowley’s trousers and pants—without much protest—he noted with satisfaction, and spread his legs. He stroked and kissed some more, getting him nice and hard, and when he was sure the time was right, he took Crowley into his mouth, licked him slowly, and pushed a few fingers into his entrance.

A gasp, scream, and those hips were bucking under him and the book was abandoned as Crowley’s hands flew to Aziraphale’s head, gripping his hair and pushing him closer and begging, “More, more! Please, more!”

Aziraphale let go, smiling at the groan. “Will you declare me the winner?”

“Please, I need—”

“Am I the winner?”

“Fuck, I can’t—you—yes, yes, fine, you’re the winner. Now _please!” _

Aziraphale nodded and finished up, bringing Crowley and himself to a satisfying climax, after which he dressed his demon again and looked down at him with love, stroking his hair happily.

For his part, Crowley looked like he desperately wanted to say something, but was debating whether he should. His mouth opened and closed over and over like a fish.

“Spit it out, love,” Aziraphale said, cupping his cheek. “What is it?”

“Can you…um…” Crowley squirmed on the bed, glancing away nervously. “That thing you were doing earlier—before we got going, I mean. Could you maybe, uh, do that again?”

Aziraphale blinked. “I’m not quite sure what thing you’re referring to.”

“You know, the…” He waved his hand up and down, still not looking Aziraphale in the eyes. “Thing.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Crowley sighed. “This.” He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and placed it on his tummy, then quickly turned away again. “Do that.”

_Ah. _Aziraphale’s sly grin returned and he cupped Crowley’s cheek to turn his face toward him. When he spoke, he did so in the condescending tone people used to speak to babies. “Does the demon want a widdle tummy rub?”

A bright red blush colored Crowley’s cheek and he glared, pushing Aziraphale’s hand away. “Don’t call it that!” 

“Call it what?”

“You _know _what.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. What should I not call it?”

“Come on, that’s such a baby word. Call it something adult, like a massage.”

“But you don’t want a massage. You want a tummy rub.”

_“Stomach _rub. Or abdomen rub. Whichever’s medically accurate.”

“Tummy rub.” Aziraphale was enjoying this far too much. “Say it.”

“Aziraphale!”

“Say it.” 

“No.”

“Say it.” 

_“No!”_

Aziraphale shrugged and shook his head. “Then I’m afraid I can’t give you one.”

“Fine.” Crowley rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow, cheeks still pink. Feeling a little guilty, Aziraphale lay down next to him and stroked his hair again. When Crowley didn’t pull away, he whispered in his ear, this time in a gentler, softer voice.

“My love, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m thrilled to know you enjoy something I do, and that it relaxes you.”

Crowley didn’t move. Aziraphale kissed his temple. “Don’t worry. You can be an incorrigible, wily old serpent, demon of Hell, creature of the underworld, bringer of darkness, doer of evil deeds, and still enjoy a tummy rub.”

“Can I?” Crowley mumbled.

“Of course you can. Starting right now.” Aziraphale sat up. Crowley turned back over, now with a small smile. “I’d still like to hear you say it.”

Crowley heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. “Will you please give me a…” His mouth twisted and curled like he was spewing poison. “Tummy rub.” He blushed again, briefly.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Aziraphale went to work. Slowly, lovingly, he brought one hand down Crowley’s shirt, then slipped under it and moved back up to reveal the bare skin. Crowley closed his eyes and gradually went limp, breathing deeply as those soft, angelic hands traveled gently over his middle. _Up, down, up, down, _with the lightest of touches.

Aziraphale loved how soft it was. For a body that was mostly thin and angular, it was comforting to know that a squishy part existed. He adored the gentle curve, following it over and over with his fingers. 

When he looked up, Crowley appeared to have fallen asleep. Welling up with love, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his tummy.

“Mm,” Crowley said. “Thank you. That was really nice.” So he was still awake after all.

“My pleasure,” Aziraphale said. Yet he didn’t want it to end. He kissed Crowley a few more times, tracing his fingers over his navel. Why or how angel and demon bodies even had those was a mystery, but Aziraphale had always liked it. A bit of uniqueness, he thought, like a fingerprint. Crowley’s was a deep innie, and Aziraphale gave it a gentle kiss before dipping his tongue into it.

“Mmph, ah!” Crowley writhed under him, kicking his legs. Aziraphale recoiled, thinking he had hurt him somehow.

“Sorry,” Crowley said. “Skin around there’s really sensitive, that’s all.”

The blush was back, and Aziraphale couldn’t help noticing that, just for a second, a smile had appeared on Crowley’s face. His voice, too, had sounded like he’d been holding in a laugh.

Oh, did that give Aziraphale an idea. A wicked one.

“No worries,” he said. He resumed the gentle rubbing and Crowley lay back down. He kept up the rubbing until he was sure his love was relaxed again. Relaxed and off his guard.

Carefully, slowly, Aziraphale kissed him again. Gently, gently, and even more gently, he took Crowley’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing his palms. He received squeezes back. A few more kisses, then he tightened his hold on the hands and blew the biggest, longest, sloppiest raspberry over Crowley’s navel.

Crowley’s ungodly shriek was almost a match for the winds lashing against the windows. It only lasted a second before he burst into giggles, making his tummy shake up and down. Aziraphale pressed his face into it and blew one raspberry after another.

“St-stop it!” Crowley could barely breathe he was laughing so hard. His hands fought Aziraphale’s and his legs wiggled under the angel’s body, but there was no breaking free. “Y-you b-bastard!” He laughed even harder, and Aziraphale thought he’d never heard anything more beautiful.

Another large, deep raspberry, and Crowley was completely red-faced with tears in his eyes. He could barely breathe for laughing, and his cheeks were going to ache from smiling so hard. Aziraphale kept going mercilessly, enjoying the taste of his skin. Only when Crowley sounded like he was truly struggling for air did Aziraphale sit back up, release his hands, and take him into his arms. He cudded his laughing love in his lap.

When Crowley could talk again, he muttered, “You better not do that again.”

“Oh, I can’t promise that. It was far too much fun.” He kissed Crowley’s forehead. “You have a beautiful, lovely laugh, you know.”

“Mm, laughed so hard my head hurts.” His eyes were closing and his head was dropping onto the angel’s chest, poor thing. Aziraphale carefully laid them both down again until Crowley was lying on top of him. His head rested on his chest and Aziraphale stroked his back until he had fallen asleep, and the sound of the rain against the windows soon had Aziraphale sleeping too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I am a Floridian for 20+ years who has earned the right to say that. I'm posting this chapter while awaiting Hurricane Dorian. XD


	2. Fire

As far as Crowley was concerned, there was nothing—absolutely _nothing_—worse than driving the speed limit. Roads that used to blur by in seconds at 90 miles per hour or more were now becoming an eyesore as his lead foot trembled over the gas at a snail's pace of 45. He snarled and groaned and cursed the powers of Hell and all the kingdoms thereof.

"For Heaven's sake, is it my fault there were two buildings so close to each other?" he grumbled for the umpteenth time. He pressed harder on the gas as he neared a traffic light, but for the fifth fucking time in a row, it turned red. "Oh, come on!" he whined as he slammed on the brake, jerking his poor car and letting loose a stream of his most colorful vocabulary.

"'Would you be a dear and check on the bookshop while I'm gone,' he says," Crowley mocked in a high voice, moving his head side to side. "'I do so worry about it whenever I'm away,' he says. Well, you didn't count on me losing my _blasted_ powers, did you, angel?" He glared at the light, which was defiantly staying red and letting absolutely everyone in the intersection move except him. He sighed and moved his head back against the seat in frustration.

_"__Do you know what you've done, Crowley?" _Hastur had shouted. _"How completely and utterly you've destroyed our plans?"_

_"__You told me to take the food to the Williams building, and that's what I did," _Crowley had insisted defensively.

_"_ _The OTHER Williams building, you fool! Did the smiling children and happy faces not tip you off?"_

_"__Not really. I thought maybe we were poisoning them or something." _In his defense, Crowley had never asked for this job, though he _had _been more willing to take it when he found out it involved driving an 18-wheeler. Specifically, an 18-wheeler loaded with boxes and crates and coolers full of fresh food that was apparently _supposed_ to go to the Williams building on Fleet Street for dumping, spoiling, and rotting. Unfortunately for Crowley, no one had bothered to mention the Fleet Street part, and so he'd assumed they meant the building on Mary Lane, which was more frequented and less out of the way. And so food that was meant to be stolen and then left in the mouths of cockroaches and ants was instead stolen and left in the mouths of poor and homeless families who were more than happy to have it and had thanked Crowley with tears of joy.

Hell had been furious.

_"__How could you do this?" _Hastur had steamed. _"You—you incompetent, you—you…"_

_"_ _Yes, all right, I messed up. Won't happen again."_

_"__Oh no, it won't. I'll make sure of that." _And like the snitch he was, Hastur ran to Beelzebub and the Dark Council, who had stripped Crowley of all his celestial powers for one week.

It was the _worst_.

No moving pedestrians and police cars out of his way with a snap of his fingers, no more screams of understanding between him and his plants, and he'd had to actually buy petrol for his car for the first time since the 60's. He was in a most unhappy mood as he fought through an unreasonable amount of traffic to reach Aziraphale's bookshop, and it only grew worse when the shop came into view.

Crowley scrambled out of his car and trembled.

The shop was on fire.

"No," he whispered, watching in horror as the flames grew taller, shattering the glass windows and attracting the attention of passerby, who stopped to film it with their phones. "It can't be."

Crowley instinctively moved his hand up, then remembered. _Damn_ them. The one time he really, _really _fucking needed to perform a miracle and now he couldn't. He looked around desperately.

"Yeah, this A.Z. Fell Bookshop in Soho is on fire," someone was saying into their phone. Okay. So someone was calling the fire department, at least. Maybe the humans with water hoses could put out the fire before it destroyed the whole thing.

_Still, _he realized. _They'll never save all of it. _He watched with a lump in his throat as shingles began to fall from the roof, crumbling inside the building. Those beautiful books Aziraphale loved so much didn't stand a chance. Crowley ached when he pictured the angel's face upon returning home, no doubt in tears when he saw his centuries-old collection, his life's work, nothing but ashes.

_"__Why didn't you watch it, Crowley?" _he would ask, hurt and betrayal on his beautiful face. _"This is exactly why I asked you to keep an eye on it for me."_

He should have been there sooner. Why hadn't he just stayed there? It wouldn't have been hard and Aziraphale wouldn't have minded. Why had he put off checking up on the place until now? How could he have been so careless?

He raised his head. Faced the flames. Maybe he couldn't stop them. Maybe he couldn't save the shop. But he could at least save the most precious books.

Grabbing the key Aziraphale had given him out of his pocket, Crowley pushed through the crowds toward the door and unlocked it. Inside was even hotter than he expected, and he immediately felt beads of sweat on his chest and forehead. Smoke was everywhere; he doubled over and started coughing. He was grateful for the very slight protection of his sunglasses, though his eyes were still watering and smarting from the sting.

Crowley never thought a day would come when he'd be happy for all those times Aziraphale had blabbed endlessly about his collection and how it was organized, yet here he was. Thanks to the angel's passionate ramblings, he knew exactly what and where the oldest, rarest, and most valuable books were.

Stepping over piles and coughing painfully, he gathered up one of the first bound copies of the Bible, Nostradamus, Mother Shipton, Robert Nixon, and a few others. When his hands were completely full, he rushed back outside. Thankfully, the crowd had wised up and was parting for him, so he could safely lock the books inside the trunk of the Bentley. He turned around.

_It's not spreading as fast as I thought. _Maybe he had time to save a few more. Sirens were sounding in the distance. If the firefighters were already on their way, they might be able to buy him some time. He hurried back inside.

Though the flames hadn't moved much, the smoke had grown worse. Crowley had to stop for a full minute, hacking and coughing as his lungs screamed in pain. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose and held it there, trying to decide what to save next. Something Aziraphale couldn't replace…oh! His Winnie the Pooh books, he loved those and they were first editions. Crowley raced to the back room and snatched them up.

_What else? I know he was really proud of those signed books from that one author who died. What was his name again? _Crowley wracked his brain. _Come on, think, think. Hatchet, something like that? No, it started with a P. Pran…Pray…_

"Pratchett!" he yelled. _That _was it. He wrote something about a turtle and a disc that Aziraphale went nuts for and had like 40 books about. Crowley grabbed as many as he could carry and ran outside to throw them into the trunk with the others.

This time it was much harder to get back in. The firefighters had arrived and were pushing people back, setting up blockades and yellow tape around the area. They were setting up their hoses—and taking their sweet time about it, Crowley thought—and shouting commands to each other. Ducking past them, Crowley made a beeline for the door.

"Hey! Don't go in there!" they yelled.

"Bugger off!" he yelled back. He knew he could make one more trip. Just one more, and Aziraphale would have enough books left to fill at least one shelf. Losing the bookshop was going to break his heart, but knowing his most cherished books had survived would make it just a little bit easier. It was Crowley's fault this had happened, and he was going to at least attempt to fix it.

"Okay, what next—oh, god!" He fell to his knees as another coughing fit took over his body, leaving him shaking with the sorest and driest throat he'd ever had. His glasses fell to the floor and broke. Sweat poured off him in buckets, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. Crowley tried to look up and found the room was spinning.

"Just one more trip. Just one more…" He struggled to his feet, putting a hand to his pounding head and covering his face again. There were still some Pratchett books left, and Aziraphale also liked that book about the spider and the pig, though for the life of him Crowley couldn't remember what it was called or who wrote it.

He slowly pulled himself to his feet. When he got out of here, he was going to lie down and drink the biggest glass of water he'd ever had. Now if only the room would settle down…he was pretty sure there was only supposed to be one bookshelf there…he put his hand out. No, that one was fake.

_This one…this one's real…_He leaned against it, shaking. His eyes were closing. He shook his head. _It's for Aziraphale. Just grab the books and go._

Coughing and blinking rapidly, he reached for the volumes on the shelf and grabbed what he could reach. He couldn't tell any more if they were the ones he'd intended, but at least he had something. The flames were coming closer and the water pouring in through the windows wasn't doing much.

When his arms were full, he turned around to leave—only to face-plant onto the floor when he missed a stack of books near his leg. The ones in his arms scattered everywhere, only partially breaking his fall. Crowley moaned and tried to push himself up, but his limbs wouldn't move. His eyes wouldn't open. Something was weighing them all down. The noises and voices around him were growing fainter as the shop became dark and quiet.

Hands were around him. Someone lifted him off the floor, and his head dropped onto his chest as he drifted off.

* * *

_"__You dear fool," _someone was saying. The voice was familiar. _"You're too kind for your own good." _A soft hand was touching his own, intertwining their fingers. Now that he thought about it, something was stuck on his hand. The back of it, specifically. Like someone had put a strip of tape there.

Crowley breathed in and out, which for some reason was much easier than it should have been. His throat was sore, but the air was…closer, somehow. Like someone had gathered it all up and brought it right to his mouth.

Another hand was stroking his arm. "How did I get so lucky to have a friend like you?" it was saying, a bit louder now. So familiar…if only Crowley could open his eyes, he was sure he'd place it right away. Every time he tried, they were too heavy. Anyway, he was sure this person wasn't a threat. No one in Hell had hands like that. He was pretty sure no human did either.

As he lay there, in what he was pretty sure was a bed given how soft it was, Crowley noticed a strange smell. Very strong, like someone had been cleaning aggressively. Not pleasant. Something was clamped around the index finger on his other hand, and he didn't much care for that either. When he had his energy back, he'd get rid of it. Where had all his energy gone?

_Something happened_…he couldn't remember what. He had a feeling if he could, it would explain where he was and who was with him. After taking a few more breaths, he pushed his eyes open and squinted.

_Too bright. _The room was all white, with an open window. Crowley didn't recognize it. There was an oxygen mask over his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was "Ngh."

"Hey." _Aziraphale. _That was who the voice belonged to. He sat beside Crowley's bed, holding his hand and looking at him with alarmingly red-rimmed eyes. "Glad to see you awake." His voice was so soft and gentle, barely above a whisper.

Crowley wrinkled his nose. Why was Aziraphale talking like Crowley was at death's door? He felt all right. Tired and his throat was killing him, but all right. If he could just get a few words out—

Alas, his lungs wouldn't cooperate. He pointed to his neck and raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale. A snap of the angel's fingers, and he felt much better. He took off the oxygen mask and said, "Thanks."

"Of course," Aziraphale said. "Listen." He leaned closer. "As grateful as I am for what you did, and as much as I appreciate your kindness…" He squeezed Crowley's hand. "If you _ever _do something like that again, I will personally go down to Hell and beat you senseless myself."

What the—oh yeah. The fire. The bookshop. "You're welcome," Crowley said, rolling his eyes.

"I mean it," Aziraphale said. Crowley looked back in alarm when he heard a sob in his voice. "Do you know how terrified I was when I came back to find police at my shop telling me you were in hospital? No book or document will ever be worth more to me than you are, Crowley. _Please _don't risk your life for them. Please."

Crowley turned away guiltily. "I wasn't risking my _life_," he pointed out. "Just discorporation."

"Crowley, you'd _lost your powers_," Aziraphale insisted. "Yes, I heard about that through the grapevine. You weren't really a demon anymore. By taking away your powers, they made you human. If the firefighters hadn't been there—" Aziraphale put a fist to his mouth and closed his eyes. He breathed in and out repeatedly.

Crowley felt as though that fist was squeezing his heart. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I just know what your books mean to you, and you left me in charge of your bookshop. I thought…maybe I could just save the most valuable ones, you know?"

Aziraphale smiled. "You were very, very sweet to attempt it. All things considered, I was lucky. The firefighters managed to save all but one portion of the shop. It's still standing, and I can fix what's damaged. And for the record, it was my fault the fire started, not yours. I knew even before I left for work that there was a gas leak that needed to be fixed, but I just kept putting it off and finding better things to do." He shrugged. "Learned my lesson, I suppose. But I still say that even if the entire shop had burned down, I still would have preferred that to losing you." He squeezed Crowley's hand again.

Crowley smiled. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he said. "Now how about getting me out of here?"

"Crowley, you need to rest, at least until you get your powers back. I can heal your injuries, but your body is still weakened and needs a break."

"Fine, fine." Crowley waved his hand impatiently. "Can I rest in my own bed and my own clothes, at least? This gown is ugly."

Aziraphale laughed. "Yes, I can arrange that." And with another flick of his wrist, he did. Crowley felt sleepy again as he was tucked into his comfortingly familiar black bed, clad in his soft pajama trousers and T-shirt.

Just before closing his eyes, he said, "You look like you could use a rest too. Long trip, working, worrying about me. Must be exhausting."

"Now that you mention it," Aziraphale agreed, yawning. He slipped under the covers next to Crowley, who pretended to be asleep already. That way, neither of them would feel nervous when Aziraphale held Crowley to his chest and stroked his hair.

"Sleep well, love," he whispered, closing his own eyes. "I'm glad you're here."


	3. Drought

"I _hate _this," Aziraphale said for what must have been the hundredth millionth time. "I hate it more than _The Sound of Music_. I hate it more than I hate evil and devilry and all the bad things thereof. I hate it more than—"

"We _get it_," Crowley snapped. "I'm not exactly enjoying this either." He brushed his arm across his forehead, knowing full well it wouldn't do a bit of good. Sweat was collecting all over both of their bodies faster than they could wipe it off. Crowley at least had done the sensible thing and worn shorts and a tank top (albeit black ones, which wasn't his best idea). But Aziraphale, stubborn old fool that he was, still wore the same getup that should have been put away for good 70 years ago. He had shed the coat and vest and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, but he was still melting in this 43-degree heat.

"Well, I tried to tell you that renting a car was a bad idea!" Aziraphale said yet again, irritably. "Your car never would have given out on us like that."

"I am _not _driving my car over roads like this." Crowley gestured to the rough terrain, filled with cracks, potholes, rocks, and uneven ground. "She deserves better. Let someone else's car deal with this."

"Yes, and let _us _deal with this insufferable heat when it breaks down," Aziraphale snapped. He hated hot weather even under the best of circumstances. This was the crankiest Crowley could ever remember seeing him. It would have been funny if he weren't so miserable himself. They had walked two miles and still there was nothing in sight but sky and hard rock. Not even any telephone cables, which probably explained why Crowley's phone couldn't get service out here.

"If it's _so _bad, then go home!"

"You _know _I can't do that."

"What's the worst they would do to you?"

"For performing miracles after exceeding my monthly limit? Forty-eight hours in solitary at the least."

"Not as bad as what they'd do to me," Crowley said, trudging along. He wasn't exactly sure what they would do to him, but he knew better than to say so. In this mood, Aziraphale would likely demand Crowley miracle them both someplace nice and cool. The further they went, the more tempting it got. They wouldn't be coming back to desert country any time soon, especially not when it was in the middle of a heat wave during global warming. He had lived in the Middle East for thousands of years and couldn't remember it ever being this bad.

Crowley squinted. It was hard to tell in the shimmering sunlight, but he thought he saw a speck of green up ahead. _An oasis? _He quickened his pace. Aziraphale saw where he was looking and did the same.

Maybe there'd be water, a palm tree branch with some shade, softer ground for them to sit down. Maybe there was…nothing. Crowley and Aziraphale groaned in disappointment as they rushed to the greenery only to find a few small, drooping plants with no shade or water in sight.

"We should have known it was too good to be true," Aziraphale groaned.

Crowley ignored him. He was too busy inspecting the leaves of the plants, which were brown, spotted, and sagging lifelessly.

"Pathetic," he spat, glaring at them. "How could you let yourselves get like this?" They ignored him, which only served to enrage him further.

"GROW BETTER!" he screamed, waiting for them to tremble, shake, straighten up, and make themselves pretty like plants should. Instead they sat there, unmoved.

"Crowley, they can't do anything without water," Aziraphale said. "It hasn't rained here in months."

"Oh?" He growled. Snarled. Gnashed his teeth. "They need water, do they? I'll give them some water. I'll give them more water than they can even fucking drink."

Aziraphale looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And how will you do that in a desert during a drought?"

"Like this!" There was such a hard edge to Crowley's voice that Aziraphale shut up and stepped back. He was going full snake-eyed, and veins were throbbing in his face as he looked up and bared his teeth at the sky, breathing heavily. He concentrated very, very, hard.

"Rain," he said. "RAIN!"

"Ah yes, the old strategy of 'shout at the sky until it does what you want.' Brilliant. Don't know why I didn't think of it myself," Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes.

Crowley seemed to be in another world. "Rain," he repeated. "RAAAIIINNN!"

"Would you stop that? The climate of an entire region isn't going to change on a whim just because you—oh lord."

Massive black clouds hurried across the sky, as if remembering they were late for something important. The entire landscape darkened, and thunder boomed. Aziraphale's mouth fell to the ground as curtains of raindrops poured at a furious pace, drenching the thirsty ground and mercifully cooling the two of them off.

"I don't believe it," Aziraphale said, though he could barely be heard over the roaring rainfall.

Crowley was still focused on the plants. "Now _grow_, you worthless pieces of shit."

And they did. The brown disappeared, the spots dissolved, the stalks stood taller, and the branches widened. They grew until they towered over Crowley, at which point the rain stopped but the clouds stayed, giving him and Aziraphale a nice bit of shade.

"Well," Aziraphale said, a little nervously. "I suppose that's one way to care for plant life."

"The _only _way," Crowley insisted, giving the plants a pointed stare. A stare that said they'd better not even think of slipping up like that again, or he'd be back. "Let's go, angel."

They continued off to find help, now significantly more comfortable.

Aziraphale didn't say one word the whole way to town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know they don't sweat. Consider that detail change a very slight AU. ; )


	4. Tornado

The dark clouds on the horizon and sudden stillness in the air told them what was coming even before the sirens did. Aziraphale had bolted from his armchair moments ago and was rushing in and out of every room in the house to fetch and tote all manner of things to the cellar. Crowley stood near the window and watched in fascination as the sky darkened even further and took on a greenish hue.

"You could _help me_, you know!" Aziraphale shouted above the wind, which was picking up fast. "Don't you think it would be rather nice to still have supplies if this house is destroyed?"

"Please, it's a rental, and the two of us together could fix it in no time," Crowley said with a wave of his hand. He could see the funnel now, growing as it inched ever closer. "Not every day you get to watch one of these."

"Crowley, _please!" _Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. "We may only have two minutes to get down to the cellar and lock the doors before we're discorporated."

"All right, all right," Crowley snapped. He reluctantly followed Aziraphale outside, where the cellar doors flapped in the wind. "Can't I at least have a second to admire it first?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Of course, only a demon would admire something that causes so much destruction," he muttered, locking the front door behind them. "This is the last time we vacation in America."

Had the wind not been so loud, Crowley might have pointed out that vacationing in America—particularly Midwest America—had been Aziraphale's idea in the first place. Crowley preferred places like New York, Las Vegas, and San Francisco, but the blasted bookworm had gotten all excited about a book he'd read that apparently made Midwestern America sound like the most perfect place on Earth.

_We have to go there, Crowley, _he'd insisted. _Wide open spaces, blue skies, none of those polluted smells. Oh, do be a dear and come with me, won't you? _And of course, Crowley had.

As it turned out, wide open spaces and lack of polluted smells meant there was nothing to see and even less to do for miles. The tornado was the first interesting thing that had happened since their arrival.

Crowley turned back to look at it again. The funnel was one of the widest he'd seen, swallowing up everything in its path. His hair was going every which way and he could barely see a foot in front of him for how dark it was getting.

_I wonder what it's like inside, _he thought. _Is it completely black, like when you close your eyes in a closet? Would you be able to see everything that's swirling around?_ He tried to picture it. The wind picking you up, dragging you into the funnel, tossing you around and taking you higher and higher until…what? Would you keep spinning higher until you flew out of the top? Would the winds suddenly die down, causing you to fall?

He couldn't remember having this many unanswered questions since his days as an angel. Crowley hated unanswered questions. They pricked at his mind like something caught in a bramble bush, keeping him up at night and occupying his every thought.

"CROWLEY!" He jumped and turned around. Aziraphale was sticking his head out of the cellar, clearly losing patience. "Would you get in already?"

He looked at the cellar. Safe, bright, and boring. He looked at the tornado. Then back at the cellar.

"Go ahead in," he told Aziraphale. "No need to leave the doors open."

"ARE YOU MAD?"

All things considered, he probably was. Crowley knew exactly how foolish it would be to stay outside during a tornado. It would be even more foolish to walk toward said tornado with no form of protection. Positively nuts. Insane. Crazy.

Crowley started walking.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Aziraphale was going to be hoarse from all the shouting he was doing.

"I wanna better look!" Crowley called over his shoulder. "Don't worry about me. Just go ahead in and lock the doors!"

"I can't just—you—you—arrrgh, _fine! _Don't blame me when you end up discorporated!" The cellar doors slammed shut with a bang.

Crowley laughed. He certainly wouldn't blame Aziraphale because he didn't plan on ending up discorporated. That was what miracles were for, after all.

The storm was beautiful. Crowley couldn't take his eyes off it. He pocketed his shades to see better. There was nothing else in the world but this mesmerizing force of nature. He hadn't been so excited since that day on the flaming motorway. His imagination, his curiosity, were itching to see the wonder up close.

A moment later, his wish was granted.

"Wooo!" He raised his arms, leaning into the wind that lifted his feet and then the rest of him off the dry grass. This was fun. Crowley found he couldn't stop laughing as the storm carried him into its clutches, and soon he could barely see his hand in front of him as he was pulled into the cyclone amidst grass, trees, shingles, and other debris. He set his mind to work, imagining that he would come out of this perfectly alive with his body in one piece.

His concentration was broken in seconds when the storm sucked him into its center.

"Whooooooaaaaa!" His laughs were more nervous now, but the grin was still there. There was a beam of light not too far in front of him at the center, but all around was darkness. Objects he couldn't make out flew over and around him. His body spun around and around and aroundandaroundandaround and _ugh _now he felt sick. Suddenly this had become significantly less fun.

Crowley tried to open his eyes, but the onslaught of dust forced them closed again. He focused on performing the miracle and feeling weightless on the wind. The storm twisted and bent, and before long Crowley couldn't tell whether he was moving up or down. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the ache in his stomach as he spun aroundandaroundandaroundandaround and _ohhhh lord please make it stop this isn't fun anymore please no._

And it did.

Hours or maybe minutes later, Crowley was on his back.

Even as he felt hard ground beneath him, the world was still spinning. Crowley kept his eyes closed and tried to hold down the vomit he knew was heading up into his throat. Though the air had quieted, his ears were still ringing. He took deep breaths to calm his body, which was still very much in adrenaline mode.

No human would have survived what he had. He smiled weakly in spite of his pain. At least he had seen something none of them ever would as well.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's familiar footsteps stopped next to him. "There you are. Do you have any idea how much I've been worried sick? Of all the idiotic, reckless, ridiculous—"

"Mm." Crowley might have said more, but his upper body convulsed as the vomit finished its trip. He gagged, struggling to breathe until a gentle hand slowly turned his face so he could expel it onto the dusty ground. Tiny rocks dug into his cheek and back as he coughed over and over, with more coming up each time. Aziraphale dabbed at his face and neck with a handkerchief until he finally finished, moaning at the ache.

"There, now. You'll be all right," Aziraphale said, his voice softer now. "You need anything?"

Crowley struggled to lift one trembling hand. "C-can you…" His head felt like it would split open. "Pick me up?"

"Can't stand up?"

Crowley didn't answer. _Can't _move_ is more like it. _He wanted to get away from these rocks and lie down in a soft bed and sleep forever.

"Yes, I can do that," Aziraphale answered gently. It was a slow process, with him trying to cradle Crowley's head in one hand and lift his body with the other, but eventually he managed it. Crowley was relieved when he was finally able to rest his head against his angel's chest and relax more comfortably.

"Sorry," he whispered sheepishly. "Was dumb of me."

"Yes, it was," Aziraphale said. "But being prone to dumb deeds is just one of the quirks I love about you." He tightened his hold. Even with his eyes closed, Crowley could see the tender smile on his face.

Aziraphale walked at a slow pace, and Crowley had almost fallen asleep in his arms when he finally felt the pillow under his head. He could have cried with relief, it felt so good.

"You're lucky the storm hit the other half of the house," Aziraphale murmured, tucking Crowley into bed. "Otherwise we wouldn't have anywhere to sleep." His fingers moved through the mess of red hair. "I'll fix what I can until you wake up."

Crowley didn't hear him. He was already asleep.


End file.
